


Leonardo Underfoot

by TimidTanuki



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, Foot Fetish, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, TMNT, Turtlecest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimidTanuki/pseuds/TimidTanuki
Summary: They say that there is a thin line between genius and madness. Leonardo awakens to find that his brother may have crossed that line--and that the focus of his delusion is to reduce the leader to a submissive sex toy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All characters in this story are of consenting age. This story contains rather dark elements, including drugging and non-consensual relations. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and the characters of Leonardo and Donatello are owned by Nickelodeon and were created by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman; no money is being made off this work and no infringement of copyright is intended.
> 
> I've had this story banging around in my head for awhile, and I'm surprised it took me this long to finish it. I have a major crush on the turtles; their sexy feet were the first sign visible to me that I had a foot fetish. Once I finished my current project (to be posted soon), I wound up staying awake until 3:00 A.M. finishing up this as a gift to myself. The following story is more than a little inspired by Hummerhouse's disturbingly erotic The End Justifies; if you don't mind some non-con darkness and you like T-cest, give it a read!

A slow shudder coursed through Leonardo's body as he regained consciousness. Despite the cloudiness of his mind, the turtle's training was instinctual and he remained motionless, breathing evenly. He vaguely remembered the hot sting of a dart stabbing into his neck, and assumed one of their many foes now held him captive; maintaining the illusion unconsciousness would give him precious time to surveil his surroundings with his other senses.  
Hastily, the ninja drew up a mental guard, knowing well that many of his foes, through science or more mystical means, could detect whether someone was truly unconsciousness or just acting; then, in the closed-off partition of his mind, he began to take in what his senses were telling him.

He could feel cold concrete beneath him; thick bands of metal shackled him to the ground, locking his wrists and ankles to the hard surface. The lack of an elastic smoothness at his elbows and knees indicated that his captors had stripped off his protective gear. There was a potent, astringent odor to the air that he breathed; it seemed overly sterile and clean, and the susurrating hum of a vent fan above indicated a low ceiling, probably eight feet at most. Finally, the light weight across his eyes indicated that he was blindfolded.

The near imperceptible click of a door opening drew his attention, but he overrode his instincts and kept his head still. Another click signaled it closing again. Footsteps—almost completely silent ones—approached him. Whoever his captor was, they were as stealthy as one of his own brothers, and that meant someone educated in ninjitsu. 

He drew in a breath through his nose, trying to catch the scent of his jailer, but the acerbic, clinical odors covered the approaching person’s scent. When he probed outward stealthily with his psychic training, he quickly encountered a sea of static—the mark of one with spiritual training similar to his own.

Behind his mental shield, Leo was concerned; this foe seemed to know the methods of a captured ninja perfectly, and that meant he could be in severe peril.

When they were separated from him by only a few steps, the footfalls ceased. He knew that his foe stood over him silently. The blue-masked turtle could feel eyes studying him; he remained immobile as a statue, his mind blank of thought.

Finally, his captor coughed, then spoke in a voice that he recognized very well: “You don’t have to bother pretending to be knocked out still, Leonardo. You’re very good, but you know that I can always tell when you’re awake.”

Incredulously Leonardo replied, “Donatello, tell me what’s going on right now. Why have you got me chained up in a lab?”

His brother chuckled, and the blindfold lifted from his face. Leonardo blinked in the bright fluorescent lights, the figure of his olive-skinned sibling silhouetted above him. “I might as well explain what’s going on; after all, you aren’t going to remember any of this later,” answered the genius. 

In a lecturing tone, he continued: “You see, for quite some time I’ve found myself tormented by a growing need; it began as the smallest seed of want, but quickly blossomed into an absolute necessity, as much a requirement to my continued existence as oxygen. And yet, that need was something to which you would never capitulate.”

He reached down to stroke Leo’s cheek with a finger; his leader remained still and silent.

“I’ve watched you day after day, Leonardo, watched your iron will and confident leadership carry us through battle after battle. As I watched, I realized that a feeling was growing inside me, a desire: I was attracted to you. I found myself infatuated with your body, your scent, your every motion. I wanted—no, needed—to have you, physically.” He added with a smirk, “In layman’s terms, I desired to fuck you.”

The expletive coming from the mouth of his normally chaste sibling was jarring. With clear confusion in his voice, Leo finally answered. “But Donatello, I’m your brother. I know that our unusual lives mean that we likely will never have a true romantic relationship with someone else, but that doesn’t mean we should turn to—to incest. It’s severely taboo for reason.” 

Frowning, he added, “What did you mean, ‘I won’t remember this later’?”

The purple-masked turtle patted a leather pouch on his belt. “To respond to your first argument: It's severely taboo _to humans_ for a reason. But we aren't human; we are mutant reptiles. The moralities of the society in which we are live do not have to apply to us; we may live within it, but we are alien, distinctly separate from it. In fact, from a biological perspective, incest among animals is rather common; one might say that by avoiding incest we are actually acting against the basic imperatives of our own species." He tapped a finger against his chin and added, "I'll have to ponder the philosophical implications of that later.

Clearing his throat, the scientist continued his reply, "As to your latter inquiry, the answer is simple. In preparation for this event, I’ve been concocting a powerful amnesiac, something strong enough to affect even our mutant physiologies. Once I am finished, I will simply give you an injection and sneak you back into your bed in the lair. When you awake, you’ll remember nothing of what we’ve done—of what I’ve done to you.” 

He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “When Master Splinter left to visit the Daimyo, I knew my opportunity had arrived. I recommended to Michelangelo that he should take a new prototype sewer slider I’ve been working on out for stress test to ensure that its battery life is sufficient. Thanks to my advice, he’ll be zipping about the sewers well until nightfall tomorrow. Raphael already had plans to crash at Casey’s place after their evening patrol.”

The genius’s chocolate-hued eyes stared into the bound turtle’s sky blue ones as he continued explaining: “That meant all I had to do was catch you off-guard for a moment; my tranquilizer put you under, and then I carried you here, to a secret chamber I’ve been setting up just for this purpose.”

Disbelief flooding his mind, Leonardo was silent for several moments as he tried to gather his thoughts. Eventually he asked, “But why all this? Why not just approach me and tell me how you felt? Perhaps I might have reciprocated your feelings, and even if I didn’t, I could have helped you out with them. I could have—.”

Donatello shook his head slowly as he interrupted his brother. “No, Leo. I know you. Your honor would never allow something so 'dishonorable and base' as a sexual tryst with your own brother; even if you you had previously thought through the implications and realized that human taboos need not apply to us, you would have refused for one of many other reasons." He patted his brother's cheek and further remarked, "Had I even suggested it, you would have felt compelled to divulge it to Master Splinter, and then my opportunity would be closed.” 

He kneeled down next to the shackled turtle before continuing his diatribe. “Besides, as I observed my feelings, I came to understand that I did not want just a relationship.” He unsnapped the satchel on his belt and drew out a vial and hypodermic needle, plunging it into the clear liquid and drawing up the stopper to suction some of it into the tube. 

“After a short time, I came to understand that while it was your unwavering discipline that initially attracted me, it was the concept of breaking that discipline that truly aroused me. I didn’t just want to have sex with you; I wanted to dominate you, and to show you that despite your strength of will, you could still succumb to my greater intellect,” concluded the brilliant terrapin.

Leonardo simply couldn’t believe that this was happening. His brother, the genius that in many ways kept their family together—even more so than his own leadership—had gone completely mad. He swallowed his waxing anxiety and in an even voice said, “Donatello, there is something wrong with you. Please, undo these bindings and we’ll go back to the lair and figure out what’s happened to you.”

Without warning, Donatello jabbed the needle into his brother’s bicep, depressing the plunger. The chemical, whatever it was, burned as it penetrated his muscle. His voice shaking with restrained anger, the eldest turtle asked, “What did you just inject into me? I thought you said you wouldn’t give me the amnesiac until after you’d done—whatever it is you plan to do with me.”

“Oh, that wasn’t the amnesiac, my dear brother.” The purple-masked turtle stowed away the medical gear before laying a hand upon his sibling’s upper arm. “That was a different cocktail of my own creation: One part potent aphrodisiac, one part mild tranquilizer, some aprostradil—that's used as an injection therapy for erectile dysfunction—and a splash of scopolamine for good measure. The combination should leave you relatively docile, sexually aroused, solidly erect, and, thanks to the so-called ‘zombie drug’, highly open to suggestion.”

Already, Leonardo could feel a leaden drowsiness settling in his limbs; the drug was working quickly, and he realized in mere moments that even if the restraints weren’t binding him to the cold concrete, his movements would be sluggish and clumsy. Yet whatever the medication was, it didn’t seem to affect his mind, or perhaps it simply couldn’t penetrate the mental barrier that he’d erected.

Almost seeming to read his thoughts, Donatello looked into his eyes, watching his pupils dilate as the drug took hold. In a self-satisfied tone, he added, “The best part of all this? If you responded how I think you would to this situation, you’ve kept a part of your mental faculties cordoned off in case your captor had any psychic capability. That means that even as I take you, as I tear down your confidence and sexually dominate you, part of you will be fully conscious to see it. And yet,” he added, patting the other turtle’s cheek lightly, “the amnesiac I concocted will easily break down that barrier and wipe out those memories once we’re finished.”

His tongue seemingly brick-thick in his mouth, Leo slurred out, “’s not too . . . too late, Dom—Donatello. ‘s time t’ undo these—these cuffs and we’ll . . . we’ll . . .”

The blue-banded mutant’s words trailed off into an unintelligible moan as he felt a heat growing in his lower plastron. From his mental sanctuary-turned-cell, he could feel the erectile drug and the aphrodisiac beginning to take effect. Warmth was suffusing his body and a pleasant tingling seemed to dance across his skin, while in its protective pouch above his tail, his member started to swell rapidly, pushing at the soft cartilage that hid it.

Noting the small bulge forming at his brother’s groin, Donatello tsk’ed and shook his head teasingly. “What a dirty boy you are, Leonardo. I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re getting hard just from the thought of being my submissive plaything.” He planted a finger on the bridge of his brother’s plastron and dragged it slowly downward, tracing the lines of his scutes. The touch sent flickers of pleasure sparking through the bound turtle’s body; when the other hand brushed along the underside of his sensitive tail, it was simply too much for his chemically-weakened will; he felt the cartilage of his slit part and his burgeoning erection slipped free, growing to a steel hardness in mere seconds.

Donatello licked his lips at the sight, before wrapping the three fingers of his left hand around his brother’s pulsing shaft. He stroked his brother's painfully-solid erection slowly, the battle-roughened skin of his palms dragging up and down the wet, purple length. A tremor ran through the geniu's body as he languidly milked the turgid organ. 

His eyes sparkling with desire, Donatello murmured breathily, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this? Can you even being to comprehend how many nights I’ve lain awake in my room, feverishly masturbating to the simple thought of your warm erection in my hand?”

The drugged turtle squirmed in his bindings, a hissing churr of need his only reply. Within his mental prison, Leonardo felt disgusted, violated tremendously, and yet he was incapable of ignoring the erotic currents spreading from his groin. He moaned and flexed the muscles of his lower body; the contraction caused his tumescent member to twitch in his brother's grip as it dribbled a string of precum onto his plastron.

After milking his brother steadily for several minutes, Donatello withdrew his hand, ceasing his stroking as quickly as it had begun. With a finger, he scraped up the thin fluid from the captured turtle’s plates and licked it from his fingertip, shivering at the taste. Then he stood and walked around to stand between his brother’s spread legs, staring through lust-mad eyes at his bound leader. 

With a sinful smile, he slowly lifted his foot off the ground and then lowered it gradually onto the glistening plum-colored shaft, pressing his heel down on its base as his twin toes gripped it just below the broad head. The contact was alien to Leonardo, yet the strangeness just seemed to add to his overall arousal.

Dragging his sole up and down the length of his brother’s cock, the intellectual asked quietly, “How does that feel, Leonardo? The foot is considered in many cultures to be the most impure and filthy part of the body, and yet I feel your desire throbbing between my toes. Part of you knows that your only worth is to be under my feet, and that the only way that you’ll ever be fulfilled in life is to submit to my will." He gave the firm flesh a vicious squeeze with his toes, eliciting a groan of pained bliss from his sibling's beak. "So tell me, how does it feel?” he hissed out demandingly

The pressure of his brother’s foot was almost painful against his hardness, but the friction still drew gasps of bliss from Leonardo’s mouth. With the sexual poison burning in his veins, he could already feel his climax building from this small amount of stimulation. A blush rose into his cheeks as he groaned out, “Please, Donny . . .”

Smirking, the scientist sped up the pistoning of his foot. “Already about to orgasm, brother? I would have expected greater stamina, but I suppose it is just a sign of your true weakness." An angry, almost furious look broke onto his face as he growled out, "Do it! Shoot your seed! It will splatter on the bottom of my foot and onto your own body, impotent and wasted—a fit reward for a submissive recreant like you!” He punctuated his fevered command with tight squeezes of his toes around the girthy wine-colored shaft.

With a cry, Leonardo felt the head of his cock flare, the bell-like tip expanding as it spewed out the first geyser of cum. The creamy eruption slopped onto his brother’s toes and onto the sole of his grinding foot; the continued movements rapidly churned it into a messy white froth. The second volley jetted up to splatter on the broken leader’s chin; a few drops fell onto his tongue as he cried out open-mouthed in ecstasy, and the bitter flavor heightened only his orgasmic rapture. The remaining spurts showered onto his plastron, coating his scutes in yellowish-ivory seed.

Before his brother’s climax had faded, Donatello shifted forward, sticking his jism-coated foot into the writhing turtle’s face. “Clean it off, you whore! You made this mess; let’s get some use out of the mouth of yours. It’s not good for anything else, after all!”

The semen-drenched foot descended onto Leonardo's face, the sole pressing against his beak. He could feel the warmth of his own load smearing his cheeks and chin; no matter how many times he washed his face, he would feel these marks of liquid shame burning on his skin. Yet his pliant mind heard the command of the dominating genius, and so he darted his tongue out weakly and lapped at the warm sole, gathering up the musky fluid and swallowing it.

The realization of the lewdness, the sheer debauchery of his actions, tore a deep churring moan from his chest, and he gave into the lasciviousness, hungrily licking up the cum. When his brother shoved a toe into his mouth, he suckled on it, rolling his tongue around the chunky digit, cleaning the dregs of his own ejaculate even from beneath the nail. Clean of jizz but now coated with slobber, the first toe jerked free from his maw with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting it briefly to his lips. When the second cum-covered extremity slid into his beak, there was no hesitation; he bathed it ravenously, gulping down his own cum with gusto.

Once clean, Donatello slowly rubbed his spit-slick foot back and forth across his addled sibling’s face, gazing down at the still-moaning turtle with contempt. “Just what I thought, nothing but a cum-hungry slut,” he growled out mockingly. “Is that why you threw yourself into the flexibility exercises that Father taught us—so that you could bend yourself double and shower yourself with your own load? I wager it is.” He snorted derisively, adding, "All that talk about your precious honor, and in reality you were just a filthy whore all this time, looking for a real male to put you in your place."

As he taunted his brother, the genius could feel his own member pushing painfully against the inside of his plastron, but he ignored it for the moment. He wanted to savor every moment of this, devour every second of his high-minded brother giving in to his basest of urges. When he finally did cum, he wanted it to be a release of epic scale, and that meant taking his time and letting his need build to its maximum.

From the sober jail within his own thoughts, Leonardo heard the exhausted churrs still issuing from his mouth and shook his head in disgust. Despite what his brother thought, his will was not shattered, he told himself firmly; he was merely enduring this torture even while his body gave into its baser instincts.

And yet when Donatello knelt down beside him again and laid a hand upon his cum-coated cheek, a shiver of uncertainty surged through his mental self. He could feel the cracks forming in the barrier protecting him, and his reserves of strength were draining quickly. He listened with dread as his brother’s taunting voice spoke to the coherent part of him: “Don't worry, brother. This is just the first debasement of many. I know that a slattern like you will crave more." He straightened himself up and turned away, adding quietly," Get used to being underfoot, Leonardo; I’m far from finished using you yet . . .”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say that there is a thin line between genius and madness. Leonardo awakens to find that his brother may have crossed that line--and that the focus of his delusion is to reduce the leader to a submissive sex toy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters in this story are of consenting age. This story contains rather dark elements, including drugging and non-consensual relations. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and the characters of Leonardo and Donatello are owned by Nickelodeon and were created by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman; no money is being made off this work and no infringement of copyright is intended.
> 
> __
> 
> This one took forever, and I'm still not completely happy with how it turned out. I'll probably do some editing on this over the next few days, even though I've been poking at it and re-working it for at least a week now. Here it is though, for what it's worth.
> 
> There are a few Japanese words in here. I'll be honest, I don't speak Japanese, but I'm pretty sure that I got these terms right.
> 
> shinobi - ninja  
> seiza - an upright kneeling position that is traditionally used in Japan in meditation and as part of the preparation in martial arts  
> jonin - leader of a team of shinobi (I had to make sure it wasn't just a Naruto term; it's not!)  
> sensei - teacher or master (and if you're reading a TCest fic, shouldn't you already know this? ;) )

Gasping and sputtering, Leo struggled to lift his leaden eyelids as a torrent of frigid water doused his face. Confusion roiled through his brain as he tugged impotently at the heavy iron bands shackling him to the concrete floor. 

It wasn’t until he heard Donatello’s mocking voice calling, “Time to wake up, Leonardo!” that he recalled his predicament and the world spun into focus.

His captor kneeled next to him, fiddling with something at the restrained turtle’s side; over an odd squeaking sound, he heard the scientist mutter, “I will need to adjust the tranquilizer next time; that little nap cost me precious time . . .”

There was a soft click and with a start, Leonardo realized that the pressure on his wrists was gone. His brother had unlocked the shackles binding him to the floor. As he watched him doing the same to the manacles around his ankles, he drunkenly asked, “Wha’er you doin’?”

“I’m releasing your bonds. What does it look like?” replied Donatello, as he straightened up. “I can’t properly humiliate you while you are flat on your shell.” Watching as he struggled to sit up, the genius added with a chuckle, “Although it looks like the graceful _shinobi_ will wind up falling on his face anyway.”

Behind his psychic barrier, Leonardo’s choked back his aggravation but could do little else. Thanks to the poisons in his blood, Leo’s body (he’d begun to think of his physical self as “Leo” and of his true, unencumbered mental self as “Leonardo”) refused to obey his commands, no matter how he concentrated.

He couldn’t let that stop him, though; he had to overcome the debilitating lethargy, subdue his brother, and then get them both to safety. After all, Donny was family; that would remain true regardless of the acts borne of his madness.

Thoughts of rescuing his brother stiffened his resolve; he took a deep breath and lurched forward into _seiza_. The sudden burst of movement left his stomach spinning with nausea, and for a moment, he feared he would topple from his kneeling position. It took all of the self-control he could muster to steady himself; once he was certain of his balance, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, battling the waves of vertigo whirling through his brain.

He felt Donatello studying him intently as he inhaled and exhaled in a meditative cadence. His respite was brief, as soon the silence was broken by scornful applause coupled with a raucous cheer of, “Bravo, Leonardo! Bravo! There is that unflinching resolve I will so savor crushing,” he jeered.

Suddenly, the _jonin_ sensed a body inches from his own, and a voice whispered almost directly into his ear, “Already finding your place, ‘brother’? It’s good that you know to kneel before your master.”

Before he could open his eyes, a hand grabbed the back of his head and jerked it forward roughly. Lacking the strength to stop the attack, he found his face yanked forward and buried between two warm mounds of flesh. Each breath pulled in the humid scent of sweat and a potent, acrid musk.

He opened his eyes to see an olive-green tail curled directly above his forehead, and with revulsion understood that Donatello had shoved the drunken turtle’s face between the cheeks of his ass. Leonardo tried to jerk his head away as the demented genius murmured, “Since you’re already down there, slut, put your tongue to work! Maybe you’ll be more skilled at pleasuring me orally than you were at leading your team.”

_Not a chance!_ snarled back Leonardo, raising his arms to shove his brother away.

At least that was his intention; in reality, the scopolamine left him little conscious control of his body. While Leo raised his hands, it was only to grip the twin globes of muscled rump to pry them apart so he could plunge his beak further into the deep cleft.

A salty, pungent taste flooded his palate as his body obeyed, tonguing the wrinkled pucker and lubricating it with his spit. The act repulsed Leonardo, and yet he felt his—Leo’s—member swelling beneath his scutes as groaned with desire.

The sensual sound drew more taunting from his brother. “You like servicing my ass, slut? Do you relish pleasuring your master?” The hand on the back of his head pulled it about, grinding it up and down the saliva-slickened crevice.

“I wonder if you’ve done this before. You seem quite talented at ‘giving a rim job’, as I believe it’s colloquially known,” Leonardo heard the olive-skinned scientist pant; it seemed clear Donny was enjoying the carnal, humiliating act. As his body continued tongue-fucking his sibling’s musky hole, the other continued his belittling diatribe: “I have to assume, though, that this is natural talent; such a virtuous prude would never admit to such a demeaning deed.”

The tight, muscular ring began to relax at Leo’s ministrations, allowing his probing tongue to delve deeper into the quivering passage. Shortly the thick, wriggling length worked in far enough to brush his brother’s prostate. The contact against the tiny bundle of nerves sent a shudder coursing through the dominant reptile, who pressed back against the wiggling tongue while hissing, “Yesss, right there, you slut.”

The submissive turtle’s drug-muddled body obeyed, thrusting his tongue against that sensitive spot repeatedly. Leonardo saw an opportunity; if he could bring his brother to orgasm, he might have an opportunity to overpower the genius as he came. He threw his will behind Leo’s actions, jabbing against the nerve cluster as firmly as possible. It was working! He could feel Don’s body shivering at the pleasurable assault, and his glutes and thighs began to flex; a few more moments and he’d push him into orgasm.

Suddenly, Donatello pulled away.

The movement was so swift that he toppled forward onto his plastron. Sharp and excruciating pain knifed up from his groin, and at first, the source of the agony eluded him. It took Leonardo a moment to realize that servicing his brother had excited his body so much that his erection had dropped down. He’d collapsed on top of it, crushing sensitive against the concrete.

Before he could even attempt to soothe the gut-wrenching ache, the world spun nauseatingly as Don planted a foot against his side and kicked him over. His shell impacted the concrete with a loud _crack!_ that echoed through the lab. As he lay dazed on the cold floor, fighting again to catch his breath, he heard his brother pant out, “C-clever, Leonardo—but you won’t throw me off so easily!”

Then he the scientist’s teasing laugh rang in his ears. “Oh good grief—did you get hard just from rimming me?” Leonardo realized that rolling over had flopped his engorged member in plain view; it twitched and bobbed above his lower scutes. His cheeks burned as the other mocked, “Maybe I should have made a chastity cage for you; you really are nothing but a whore.”

Donatello walked over and reached beneath him to slap the tip of the leaking shaft, drawing a squeak of shock from the prone turtle. “Wait here, my submissive toy,” he ordered. “After partaking of such a fine slut, I need to rest my legs,” he added, as he disappeared into the shadows.

A moment later, Leonardo heard a scraping noise and weakly lifted his head to see his captor dragging a plush leather armchair into the light. It squeaked as Don flopped down into it, his muscular legs splayed apart to reveal his obvious arousal. The lounging turtle locked eyes with his doped sibling and sharply ordered, “Get over here, slut—on all fours, like the bitch you are.”

Leo held out for only a second before acquiescing to the order. He turned over and struggled to all fours before starting unsteadily toward the seated terrapin. The rough concrete bit at his knees and shins as he crawled, his maleness swinging below him, dripping onto the floor.

As he neared, he saw Donatello draw something from behind his back. It took a moment to identify it: An unadorned leather collar with a silver buckle. The seated turtle crooked his finger and Leo crept forward obediently to have it placed around his neck. Inside his mind, the coherent core of himself showed far less obedience, watching with cold anger at this disgrace.

The collared ninja watched as his brother sat back and mused, “I’m conflicted, slut. You see, we have hours to go before we return home, your mind wiped clean of all this. At the same time,” Don added, leaning forward to lock eyes with him, “I’ve realized I have concocted far too many ways destroy your character and transform you into the sniveling whore I know you to truly be.”

The maddened savant sighed theatrically as he continued, “Sadly, we do still have to worry about the clock. As you napped, I grew concerned that I would be unable to choose between all the delightfully degrading options.”

Leo felt one of Donny’s feet slip from its perch; it slid over the sensitive, exposed skin of his collarbone until it cradled his chin between two thick toes. It forced his head upward to look his dominator in the face.

“Then I realized: **I** do not have to choose at all.  Who better to know what would annihilate your sense of self-worth . . . but you.” In a quiet, demanding tone, he concluded, “And so I ask you: What act would you find most mortifying?”

The torpid leader cursed mentally. He couldn’t submit to this! Whatever had happened to Donatello, it was up to him to break this madness.

Then an idea struck him: He could simply tell the truth! After all, his sibling couldn’t use the information against him, for one simple reason: It relied on a person who wasn’t here!

Trying his best to form the words clearly, Leonardo responded, “’s – It’s Splinter. T-to lose control in front of h-him, and to lose his respect.” Despite his addled state, a glimmer of resistance shone in the turtle’s blue eyes; this was something out of Donatello’s control. Perhaps it would throw him off balance.

His stomach sank as the savant just smirked and hissed, “Excellent choice, brother . . .” Donatello rose from the chair and darted noiselessly into the shadows. The prostrate turtle peered into the darkness, but his eyesight was simply too fuzzy to see anything.

Momentarily, he heard soft footfalls behind him; he shuffled around unsteadily toward the sound, but before he was reoriented, a thick, whip-like tendril cracked against his temple. The sharp blow sent him sprawling once more onto the cold stone floor.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a familiar voice speaking in displeased tones: “Leonardo, what is this? What have you become?”

_That’s impossible_ , he thought as dread clutched his gut.

Yet as he righted himself, he found looming over him his father and sensei. The shadows cast by his maroon _yukata_ hid Splinter’s face, but his voice was unmistakable. “Answer me, Leonardo!” he demanded

_No!_ howled Leonardo within his mental bunker; he sensed ragged cracks splintering through the spiritual barrier protecting his mind from the maelstrom of drugged confusion. He threw his remaining will into bolstering those shields, leaving none to allot to fighting for control of his physical body.

From Leo’s drugged beak emerged a slurred, “Noooo . . .”

“What dishonor is this? Captured so easily, given in to a foe with so little struggle?” The rat pointed with a long, clawed finger toward Leonardo’s groin and growled in disapproval, adding, “And with yourself exposed like some lustful beast?!”

The turtle whimpered and tried to lower his hands to cover his shameful erection, but before he could do so, Splinter’s whip-like tail lashed out, wrapping around one of his forearms. “No!” rebuked the robed sensei, “You will not hide your shame!” The steely tendril jerked back, forcing his wrist to the ground; the rat’s clawed, furless foot pressed down against it, pinning the limb to the concrete. A second later and the rat’s tail subdued his other arm, leaving him once again restrained, this time by the warm flesh of his father’s feet.

Without the direction of Leonardo’s will, Leo just stammered uselessly until a sharp slap to his cheek by his father’s tail silenced him. Contempt dripped from the rodent master’s voice as he chided, “You have shamed the Hamato clan, Leonardo. You have shamed your family. Most of all, you have shamed me.”

“I see now that I erred grievously in choosing you to lead my clan. I should punish you,” he continued. The turtle whined, struggling helplessly against the rat’s smooth, pink soles. Feeling the movement, Splinter gripped with his dexterous toes until the tips of his claws dug sharply into the flesh of his captive’s wrists; with a yelp, the helpless mutant stilled.

Grousing with frustration as he sought to repair his nearly-fallen mental guard, Leonardo watched as his outer being futilely tried to reason with his father—no, not his father, but with this evil illusion.

 “Sensei, I . . . I don’t – I don’t understand. D-donatello-“ Leo sputtered. “We have to—something is w-wrong with him, he’s gone insane!, Please, father—”

The rat cut him off with another smack to his cheek; this time the leathery tail left a red welt on the turtle’s emerald skin. Splinter scoffed. “Father? I am not your father; I see no son of Hamato Yoshi. I see a mewling animal enslaved to his lusts. See!” He pointed with a trembling finger at the turtle’s neck and growled, “You wear a collar, like a dog, and not once have you fought to remove it!”

While the defeated ninja’s blue eyes filled with tears, the rat’s tail slithered down the center of this plastron; to his surprise, it encircled his still-engorged member just below the head and squeezed tightly, milking a few drops of fluid from the tip. “Even through all this you still are aroused! Have you no honor?” Splinter shook his head in disgust.

“Do not ever call yourself my son again!” he raged. “You are no _jonin;_ you are not even _shinobi_! You are lecherous dog, given over to rut.” The tail constricted again, pinching the throbbing violet pole almost cruelly and drawing a confused whimper of pleasure from Leonardo’s throat.

“See how you mewl like an animal?” The tail’s grip on his shaft loosened but then began to piston up and down, milking the twitching plum-colored length. “Tell me, dog: Even though you consider me your father, you still find pleasure in having me touch you like this?” In reply, Leo’s body writhed on the concrete, trying to thrust into the stroking grip; as soon as he did, though, the tail stopped.

In a tone thick with loathing, the rat responded, “No, dog. If you wish me to sully myself by giving you release, you will beg for it properly.” His tail resumed its languid motions, the pressure and friction tantalizing against Leo’s erection but not enough to push him over the edge.

“Father why—“ he started, but then immediately yelped with pain as the tail’s grip once more turned vice-like.

“Dogs do not have fathers! They have masters. If you must address me at all, you shall call me that!” snarled Splinter.

“I—“

“NOW!” roared the rat.

Having left his body to its own devices, Leonardo’s hasty ‘repairs’ seemed to be holding, but he had lost ground to the storm; the size of his ‘safe room’ had shrunk to no more than a closet.

As his body croaked out, “Master, please, I beg you—”, Leonardo reached out with his will to direct it

_Release me_ , said Leonardo in his mind.

“Give me a release,” whined Leo.

Leonardo blinked, and then moaned out, _No_. He might be safe within his few feet of sanity, but he’d spent too long securing it; his will no longer exerted control over his physical body.

Under the hood, Splinter shook his head in disgust. “Better, but you are still a base and immoral animal, just as I said. You are not my son. You humiliate me by even making such a ridiculous claim!” Nonetheless, the corkscrewed tail sped up its ministrations; the stimulation fell short of bringing him to orgasm, but it left the turtle moaning and squirming in need.

“Come, you can beg better than that. What are you? What do you call a lust-driven, collared beast like yourself?” asked the rat deridingly.

“I . . . am a d-dog, Master,” choked out Leo.

“Good, very good, dog. Now, one last thing: Are you the son of Hamato Yoshi?”

_Yes! s_ creamed Leonardo.

“I—please, no, Master, please, don’t make me . . .” mewled the broken _jonin_.

The stroking stopped, leaving Leo humping the air pitifully. “Say it, and you will have your release, beast,” hissed Splinter. The rat raised one of his feet from the turtle’s wrist, pressed the sweat-dampened sole against his cheek, and added, “Admit that you are a fatherless dog, that you are an animal barely fit to be trod upon, and I will grant you what your perverse body craves.”

The broken ninja whispered, “P-please , I give in . . .”

_No, this isn’t real, you can’t give in!_

“I am w-what you say—“

— _this is_ _an illusion, a trick. I—_

“I am . . . n-not. . .”

_—damn it, no! Fight this! You are not – you **are** Hamato Leonardo—_

“—H-Hamato Yoshi’s son . . I am—”

_—an unthinking animal, I’m a beast— **No!** I am not—_

“—nothing but a – a mindless, horny d-dog, f-fatherless.”

_—no gods, please no, let me wake up, let me—_

“L-let me c-cum . . .”

_—let me cum_ . . .

Splinter victoriously cried, “Yessss!” even as his sinewy tail milked the swollen, purple length furiously. The rat pressed his broad, sweaty sole down over the turtle’s beak, and without prompt, Leonardo nuzzled it, groaning into it as he humped thoughtlessly into his father’s stroking tail.

“You are underfoot, right where you belong, you dishonorable dog!” snarled the rodent, smearing his sole across the worshipfully-lapping tongue of his conquest. “Show your master that you know your place. Cum for me, dog! Now!”

Leonardo came, his rapturous scream muffled by his own father’s flesh. Rope after rope of hot seed spurted from the pulsating tip of his cock. It dribbled down to coat the wriggling, viciously pumping tail; the thick liquid strung from the pistoning tendril back to its source, glistening in the light. The hot jism even jetted all the way up the turtle’s body, splattering the foot trampling his face. The gooey liquid dribbled between the clawed toes to fall into the ninja’s gasping mouth.

By the time that his senses returned to him, the emerald-skinned ninja felt destroyed, both physically and spiritually, his throat raw from the shouts of pleasure. Tears filled his eyes as the full weight of his dishonor crashed into him. Even behind the corroding psychic barrier, Leonardo fought back exhausted sobs of shame.

Through the quiet sounds of his own whimpering, he heard his father laughing. He watched as Splinter lowered his hood, to reveal Donatello’s mad, smirking face.

“Confused, brother?” inquired the cackling genius in their father’s voice. He raised a hand to his throat and pulled away a small bandage-like patch, and then in his own voice, Donatello taunted, “You truly believed I was Father? No wonder you have been so easy to break!”

The insane scientist shrugged off the _yukata_ and disconnected from his belt a long, leather-wrapped, whip-like device. Still chuckling wickedly, Donny said, “Voice-altering technology is simple; I rigged that up myself. The cybernetic tentacles of the Krang were easy to convert into a faux ‘tail’. Your intoxicated, hallucinating mind—or that doubt-ridden, feeble thing that you use for one, anyway—did the rest.”

Within his mind, Leonardo dropped to his knees. Both mentally and physically, he found himself repeating the word, “No,” in a quiet, broken voice. He was right: It had been an elaborate trick, but it had served its purpose. Even now, he found himself—his true self—confused and concerned. What if this was the illusion and Splinter had really been there, had actually said those things? What if he had gone insane and this was all some delusion?

Smearing the cooling remnants of his brother’s load onto his cheek, Donatello kneeled down next to him and patted his head with mock concern. “Don’t fret, Leo. I’m certain that our ‘fearless leader’ will find some way to get out of this and save me.” Sneering at his still-whimpering sibling, he added, “But we both know that you’ve lost, and even though I’ve only a few hours left, it is inevitable that you will admit defeat and beg for my mercy.”

He leaned down until his face was mere inches away, and whispered, “The best part is that I can do this, time and time again, because you won’t remember a thing. Each time, it will be fresh and new for me, and torturous and new for you. I’ll be able to break you to my heart’s content.”

Leonardo watched his brother backing away into the darkness. The shadows seemed tangible, swallowing the genius’s form up as though he were sinking into oil. Only when the blackness swallowed him completely did the near-broken ninja allow himself to whisper, “I’ll save you, Donny. I might be lost, but I swear I will save you—from yourself.”

 


End file.
